Soul Stealer
by librarylemming
Summary: Ginny comes out of the Chamber of Secrets with a deep hate for herself, and for Harry Potter. She cannot bear the guilt and the shame and becomes a shell of the girl she used to be. My version of events: what could have happened to Ginny Weasley.
1. Pure Hate for a Pure Heart

**A/N: This is my version of what could have happened to Ginny after coming out of the Chamber of Secrets. Please review if you can :)**

_How could he? Why did he? How dare he?_

These were the thoughts that raced around Ginny Weasley's head on a fine Sunday morning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was 6 months after that dreaded incident, but no matter how much time tried to put a distance between Ginny and that distant memory, there was no difference. The same thoughts bounced round her mind, the same feelings took control of her body, and the same guilt and shame locked her in their embrace. These things were as much a part of Ginny now as her flaming red hair, hand-me-down robes and pale complexion.

_How could he? Why did he? How dare he? _

She rose from her four-poster bed, ready to greet the day the same way she had been for six months – with contempt, regret, humiliation, and a slowly building hatred for a certain boy. Rubbing the sleep away from her eyes, she saw that she was the only one left in the room again: the nightmare from the night before had worn her out and made her sleep well past breakfast. She was grateful that there were no classes today, as she would have lost points for Gryffindor and probably received detention from whichever teacher took fancy in her punishment.

She got up and got dressed, planning to spend the day wandering around the library, borrowing books which would be helpful in her studies this term. Ginny had (in a surprisingly clever and organised manner which one did not usually attribute to her personality) drawn up a list of books that teacher's had mentioned during class, somewhat offhandedly, as what would be good to study and provide background knowledge on some of the topics discussed. She needed as much help as she could get, not because she was a bad student, but because she feared that her confidence could be misplaced. She didn't want to end up the worst of the family, she had a lot to live up to, and she certainly didn't want anyone thinking that she was the helpless little sister of her brothers. She had a lot to prove, and not just to herself. So she planned to be focused and concentrate hard, no distractions.

But those irksome thoughts, those stupid recurring memories, seemed determined to stop Ginny from achieving her aim. They almost had a life of their own, popping up at times most unfortunate for a young witch, and they consumed her until they were all she could think about.

Not only that, but every day she was faced with reminders of what she had done. Those faces in the corridors could have died had not she been stopped, those smiles could have been forever wiped off their faces as a result of the terror she might have unleashed, those minds could have been forever silenced. All because of her. Never mind the fact that she had not entirely been in control of herself, but she had stupidly poured her heart out into that little book, that annoying good-for-nothing book, and in doing so she allowed herself to be taken over. She had helped people, people she knew and saw frequently, be petrified. She could have killed someone.

And that boy had stopped it. And let her live with this awful guilt, the awful feelings of what she could have done, the awful reminders of how she was powerless to resist. She was weak, she was a coward, and he had let her live with that. Once she realised what she had done, Ginny wanted to die in that chamber – at least she would have been released from the feelings that she felt, at least she would have been free. But as it stood, she wasn't, she was stuck in this world, in this plane, and it was because of that boy.

The boy with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, the boy with the glasses in front of the bright green eyes, the boy with the courage, the boy with the bravery, the boy with the heart. The boy that had her trapped bouncing back and forth between guilt and hate, a need for revenge and a need for release.

Ginny Weasley, the girl who had helped Voldemort (or known then as Tom Riddle), had been saved by Harry Potter, the boy who lived. And she hated him for it.


	2. An Excuse to Avoid Fear

Walking down the corridors to breakfast, Ginny encountered many happy faces, faces that smiled at her as she walked past. But Ginny couldn't muster up the strength to smile back. The smiles were wiped off their faces as she passed them by with the same dead-pan expression on her face. They turned to watch her back as she walked away with expressions of hurt and confusion plain to see on their faces, but with an easy shrug they continued on their way, pushing her out of their minds. Like others, they assumed it was just a bad day. No one attributed her attitude to what had happened a little over a year ago. Logically, who would?

But Ginny was still dogged by the tainted memories of the Chamber of Secrets. Every night, without fail, she would dream of it. Last night had been a particularly bad one, and after waking up early she found she couldn't go back to sleep.

_Cold. Everywhere was cold. The hard floor was cold, the air was cold, and she was cold. A small puddle of water lay underneath her, and it seeped through her robes making her even colder. She couldn't ever remember being that cold, not even in the dead of winter. Christmas at the Burrow had been freezing, but nowhere near as cold as this. It ran deep, her bones now ice. The book, that dreaded book, lay near her, and she could feel herself drifting further and further away as the boy got more and more solid. She felt his hard gaze on her, but could make no move to speak, couldn't move at all. Her chest was getting tighter and tighter and she could barely breathe more than shallow breaths. But even that was getting hard. She hoped, she prayed, that no one would die because of her. Even in her near-death state she felt the heavy weight of guilt bearing down on her, just like death was. She hated herself. She was almost glad she was going to die. She never wanted anyone to find out what she had done, for she was absolutely sure they would never understand. Her family would be horrified, ashamed, sickened, repulsed and she would surely be shunned. Maybe locked away forever in the attic with the house ghost, or maybe sent away to Azkaban. Who knew? She didn't want to find out. She wanted to welcome death with open arms, but the cold made that hard, made her resist, even though she didn't want to. But it wouldn't be long, not long at all...  
__And then his face floated above her face, hair falling way from his forehead to reveal that scar. He pulled her back, back to life, back to where she didn't want to be...  
__Faces floated around her, faces of all those hurt, faces of all those who loved those hurt, faces of people that could have been hurt, faces, faces, faces, they filled her vision. But one stayed strong. His face. She hated him almost as much as she hated herself. Her expression darkened, and he laughed.  
_"_It's okay, Ginny, you're okay, let's get out of here. You're alive," Harry said with a smirk.  
__Faces, faces, faces..._

She shook her head from the miserable recollection of reality and imagination. And just as she thought she had calmed herself enough, there he was. Walking down the corridor. She looked away furiously, hoping he wouldn't notice her. But how could he not? she thought. Her flaming red hair was a big red target, hard to miss, harder to forget...

"Hey Ginny, how are you?" Harry said, stopping her for conversation.

She blushed, deep to the roots of her hair, and Harry mistook that to mean that she liked him and was embarrassed that he had talked to her. He smiled, somewhat uncomfortable with this mistaken realisation. But Ginny was blushing with fury. She didn't want to talk to him. Ever. And it was not the kind of situation where the deepest hate spurns the deepest love. Ginny wanted Harry dead, or at least purged from her life completely. If the faces weren't reminder enough, he was.

Gritting her teeth, Ginny mumbled a fine and broke away from the conversation. Again, Harry understood this to mean that she was lost for words, or didn't know what to say, and smiled faintly as she left. He was blind to the glares she always threw his way, blind to her reactions to his very presence, blind to everything Ginny felt. Like most people, Harry thought he had done Ginny a favour by saving her life last year. Who wouldn't want to live?

The answer, of course, was one that no one would believe correct. Ginny, a twelve year old girl in her second year at Hogwarts, didn't want to live, not after she had done. But even though she was a Gryffindor, she didn't have the courage, and she couldn't do it to her family. They would know she did it on purpose, whereas they had already accepted her death while she was in the chamber.

Another thing to blame on Harry Potter. For Ginny, the list kept growing longer, and the hate in turn went deeper. She isolated herself completely, focused on her studies (even though it was the end of the year) and soon enough she was rivalling Hermione with the most study-obsessed girl in Gryffindor, or perhaps even the whole school. People talked about her, and put her recent efforts in education down to that she never wanted to be caught in a situation like that again. They assumed that her hard work was so that she could stand and fight next time. But, like other assumptions made about Ginny, they were incorrect. Her studies gave her something else to focus on, something quite apart from the fractured thoughts that would otherwise occupy her mind. They were nothing more than an escape, although a part of her did admit that she wanted to beat her brothers in schooling. It was a rivalry of siblings, a competition to be the best, and she had taken the bait. It just gave her an extra boost and excuse to study the way she did.

It also gave her an excuse to avoid Harry Potter at all costs – for otherwise she feared she would do something drastic, something that no one at Hogwarts would have expected from the "innocent Ginny Weasley". She feared that left long enough alone with the famous Harry Potter, she would kill him.

What she feared even more is that she would be happy about it.


	3. Growing Into a Nobody

It had been 2 years since Ginny had been turned upside down, and by now she felt that it was the right way up. She was carrying on her thirteen year old shoulders the deep-set emotions of a thirty year old woman. She had changed. She rarely brought her nose out of her books for fear of herself, and her demeanour had lost all cheerfulness, as if a dementor had been sucking on her soul. But she didn't feel any worse off for it. She had become a quiet girl, a lonely girl, a girl that piqued the curiosity of most – especially her family. No one quite understood Ginny, not anymore, and everyone was so caught up in their own lives that they couldn't be bothered to try. And Ginny was perfectly happy for it to be that way. She had a monster locked inside her, locked deep away, and she didn't want anyone to find it. She couldn't afford to let anything slip, and if no one talked to her then the risk was minimal. People learned to accept her as being odd and quiet, and some even forgot that she had ever been any different. She had passed her exams with flying colours – all but potions had received perfect marks – and the holidays were coming. She had asked Professor McGonagall for her booklist early. McGonagall, somewhat flabbergasted, complied, so now Ginny had her summer reading list. She would write up notes, especially for some of the more difficult chapters she would surely have to study in her fourth year. She would be prepared for next year, and as soon as the Hogwarts Express left, she was already wishing to be back at Hogwarts, back to the classes, back to the studying. She was desperate to be challenged, desperate to be kept occupied, desperate to be focused.

She lived and breathed magical studies. They were her life now. And as long as she worked hard enough, she would be able to drive the memories, the faces and the thoughts away. It was not easy. Each time she thought they were gone for good, or at least for a while, Harry Potter would be brought up, or she would see him, and she would be back to the beginning again. It didn't help that Ron and Harry were best friends. Each summer he would spend part of the holidays with the Weasley's, and Ginny would withdraw even more than usual, and her door would remain locked through the duration of his stay.

Again, people assumed the Ginny had a major crush on Harry, especially now that she was a teenager, and would tease her about it. But assumptions never got people anywhere and, like rumours, they were usually wrong.

At thirteen years of age Ginny looked unusually tired most of the time, the bags under her eyes a clear indication that she was either working herself too hard (which she was) or she had troubles sleeping (which she did). Her red hair was generally tied back into a ponytail so that she could write without it getting in the way. She was tall for her age, and willowy, and many girls envied her figure, though they didn't envy her. She was a recluse, the total opposite of popular, and no one ever heard her voice unless she was answering a teacher's question, or talking to a member of her family.

But things were growing worse for Ginny. She was becoming not just a nobody, but a nobody that brought down the mood of the room. She would walk in and silence would follow her entrance, and sound came back as she left. It was as though she sucked out the sound with her presence, but of course that was impossible. She was just a girl who was a nobody, who had nobody, and being the shallow people that people can be, they thought it was contagious and stayed well away. People at Hogwarts in particular.

Ginny learnt to ignore it, otherwise the alternative would have been being hurt by people's actions towards her every day. People didn't matter to her anymore. They were inconsequential, and would only be a hindrance if she wished to top her year, and top her family. People were unpredictable, giving you as much joy as they could give you pain. And Ginny preferred not to risk that. She had had enough pain to last a lifetime, and she still carried this burden on her back. Being friends with someone would remind her of what could have happened to them, and she had tried so hard to avoid these thoughts that it would be useless, pointless, and would only make matters worse instead of better.

Ginny didn't fool herself into believing that anyone could help her. Ginny didn't fool herself into thinking that anyone would try. Ginny didn't fool herself into acting as though she was anything other than a nobody.

Ginny was Ginny, and growing ever more so by the day.

But what no one knew was that the Ginny she was growing into was not the Ginny that anyone wanted her to be. A Ginny that not even she could have wanted to be.


	4. Speculation is Just Speculation

Coming to the end of her fourth year at Hogwarts, Ginny had reached the top of her year, and was still striving for more. Although by now it was more out of habit than for any real ambition. She didn't pay attention to the muggle world (though her father did try to force it on her), nor the wizarding world, or anything outside of Hogwarts and her studies. She barely payed attention to the gossip at Hogwarts, but her roommates frequently stayed up at night discussing this rumour or that couple that she had little choice in the matter, unless she wanted to sleep downstairs in the Gryffindor common room. But that would also mean a chance encounter with Harry, and she didn't want to risk it. Her fourteen year old anger and hate was a lot harder to control than her twelve year old anger and hate had been. Avoiding at all costs was the best, and sometimes when she believed people were going to talk about him she charmed her ears so that she would be deaf to their gossiping voices. The charm was only able to work for a little while, though, otherwise Ginny would have it permanently on, with the exception of the teachers, of course. She _wanted_ to hear them, just not anyone else.

And her status had gotten worse. Not only did silence seem to constantly follow her like a shadow, except of course for her gossiping roommates and the loud cacophony that the Great Hall meals usually entailed, but now emotions seemed to fade from the room. A steady uneasiness spread through the students when the quiet, remote, study-obsessed girl entered the room. She instilled in them a kind of fear, or wariness, of her. She was more than odd, she was just plain weird. If she were the nobody she used to be, she would be ignored, but now everyone was blatantly aware of her presence and existence. No one could do anything about it, of course, for she was a model student with near perfect marks (some even whispered that she was better than Hermione in the year above them), but people kept their distance. No one wanted to be in association with her anymore, and to give people a reason to feel this way, rumours were made up.

"I heard that she got hit really bad on the head down in that chamber, you remember that?" some whispered after Ginny had vanished from their sights.

"Bah, the chamber is old news, _I _heard that the reason she is like...you know...is because she met a wizard who bewitched her to act this way – he wants her to help him when she gets out of school, and she needs to be the best of the best. Help him with what, nobody knows, but it can't be good if he has had to _bewitch_ her," others murmured in reply to the theory.

"It's not really her, but an expelled student using the polyjuice potion..."

"She was driven mental after a visit to St Mungo's, but they let her out on good behaviour as long as she wouldn't talk to anyone and focused on her studies, and they keep an eye on her through the paintings..."

"Poisoned by someone...haven't caught them yet..."

"She saw death, that's what I reckon..."

"Attacked in the Forbidden Forest, never been the same since..."

Round and round the explanations went, getting further and further away from the truth. Her family, the ones still at Hogwarts, always tried to stand up for by saying that there was nothing wrong. But then, of course, this only brought on another round of rumours, now to do with family.

"I think that maybe them Weasley's did something to her, and are trying to cover it up..."

"Maybe the twins did something horrible, and Ginny saw it, and they have enchanted her to keep her mouth shut! I BET that's it! Always up to no good..."

Any attempt to fix it was futile, and the only ones that seemed to mind was Fred, George and Ron. Sometimes, even Hermione, but she had never really known Ginny that well. Never had the chance, as Ginny's hatred for Harry stopped her from trying to be a friend. She had no choice with Ron – he was her family, after all – but Hermione wasn't, and therefore she didn't have to bother. Hermione mainly stood up for her out of obligation to Ron.

In any case, as time went by and Ginny progressed through her schooling, her reputation grew worse and worse.

She was no longer a nobody, but a somebody that should be avoided at all costs. Of course, no one actually _asked _her why she was the way she was, and Ginny was completely glad that they didn't, but they were happy to live in their assumptions and speculate.

I mean, speculating was half the fun, and if they were told the real reason, what fun would that be?

So people continued speculating, and Ginny continued being Ginny, but things had far from levelled out to a regular state. For Ginny, there was only decline, although she couldn't see it.

She saw her marks getting higher, and her studies getting better, she couldn't see what was really happening.

All the emotion, the regret, the pain, the shame, the hate, that she had pushed down and suppressed through her studies was festering deep inside her. The nightmares grew worse, and she saw people at Hogwarts dying – all those faces disappearing one by one, and soon Ginny was living off as little sleep as was possible. Of course, she didn't attribute this to anything bad, not as an omen (she never believed in Divination, or fate, or any of that prediction junk) and so she continued thinking everything was as it always had been.

When it wasn't.

Far from it.


	5. Soul Stealer

Ginny Weasley was now fifteen years old, and had just received all OWL's. She, however, didn't feel happy, or elated, or excited, or proud. All she felt was this emptiness inside her. She had expected a good result, and she had got it. There, people commented, she was different than Hermione. Hermione would constantly badger on about what she did wrong, fretting that she would fail, stressed out that she hadn't been good enough. Ginny was quite certain of her marks – the amount of studying she had done should have all but secured her the top spot. Now she had the opportunity to do whatever she wanted (almost) for her NEWT levels. But then...then she would be out in the real world. Hopefully she would secure a job which would allow her to focus hard, and on nothing else.

Maybe, she would finally get a chance to escape the faces, the reminders, and get a chance to run away from the memories.

She knew that she would never forget, unless she performed a memory charm on herself (which she wasn't inclined to do), and in a strange way she didn't want to. Over the years it had given her a stony resolve. She was used to it. But the reminders...those daily reminders...she didn't need those...

Her hate for Harry had grown ever stronger, for he was almost always the talk of the school. And those little charms she performed on herself to tune out just weren't working anymore – there were simply too many people, too many gossips, too many words, and she couldn't control it. Even being one of the best in the school, it didn't make the charms work any better. She was getting sick and tired of hearing Potter this and Potter that and the way people always seemed so fond of everything he did. They whispered about everything, and Ginny swore she heard some girls muttering about him going to the bathroom and smiling at them as he walked past. Harry was the only thing these days that elicited any emotion from her. It made her expression turn sour, her lips curl, and her eyes narrow. She almost looked like Snape did when he was at his most unpleasant.

But other than that expression, Ginny Weasley was a statue of a girl, barely there. If it wasn't for her hand raised in class, always ready to answer questions that had other students stumped, she might have been just another of the Hogwarts ghosts.

By now, the students were positively scared of her. She had been silent for so long now (they didn't count her utterances in the classrooms), and there were still no answers. Ginny represented the unknown to them, and everyone was scared of it. Even the teachers seemed...cautious of her. They never failed to be surprised when Ginny's hand was in the air, and she spoke to them. No one dared laugh while Ginny was around, in fact no one dare think anything remotely cheerful, in case Ginny gave them her death glare or jinxed them. She was one of the best students, and probably knew any number of hexes that others hadn't heard of because of her wide reading. Although no one had ever actually reported Ginny doing such a thing, the fact remained that Ginny was scary, even for a fifth year.

Ginny was worse than she ever had been, lost in the pit of emotions broiling within her. With exams over, and because she wasn't able to get next year's books (teachers had yet to be appointed, and Ginny had still not chosen her classes) she was left with nothing...but her thoughts. They came at her, in all their darkness, and followed her around everywhere she went. She caught herself staring out windows more often than not, thinking about death, the faces, of the boy from the diary, and how bad things could have gone. She saw blood on her hands out of the corner of her eye most days, but whenever she looked at them closely there was nothing but the pale skin with a smattering of freckles. But she kept seeing the blood, no matter how many times she told herself there was nothing there.

One day, during the holidays, Mr Weasley took Ginny into the Ministry of Magic with him. He knew she was incredibly bored, and had finally begun to notice that there was something different about her. Mr Weasley hoped that taking her to the Ministry might change things, make her a little more awake and alert. There were a many number of things there that were interesting – in fact, he had something to show her in his office, a thing he had collected from a muggle called a 'laptop'. Mr Weasley was fascinated by the muggles and their contraptions, and he wanted to see what Ginny thought of them. Maybe she shared the same interest as he did, but he was sorely disappointed. Ginny's expression did not change at all. She looked around her father's office, touched some of the artefacts, shrugged, and sat down in a chair once again gazing out the window (although they were miles below ground, they still had windows). Mr Weasley cleared his throat, uncomfortable with his daughter's reaction. A fifteen year old should have more life, he thought, should have more...just more...

"Ginny, why don't you wander around the Ministry and see what catches your fancy? Just make sure you know where you are going, and don't be afraid to ask questions if needs be. But only ask people you think you can trust, or someone that you know, as the ministry is in a right state these days..." he said to Ginny, watching her intently for her reaction.

With a simple nod, Ginny stood up and left her father's office. She was entranced by her thoughts, they clouded her ability to make informed decisions, and she headed towards an elevator without looking back. Her fingers pressed a button of their own accord. In the pit of her stomach, Ginny felt this draw. Something wanted her. She felt something for the first time, and she had to follow it.

The elevator when down, down to the ninth level apparently. Without thinking, Ginny stepped out. She didn't exactly know why she was doing it, but she knew she had to. Those faces...they wanted her to...she had to...

She walked down a plain corridor, nothing distinguishable about it, until she was faced with a black door. There was no choice but to open, for she had no inclination to turn around and go back. Some small voice in her mind told her that she shouldn't be here, that her father wouldn't want her to be here, but the faces were stronger. Faces tight with grief, pain, hurt, loss. She could have caused that. And she felt that opening this door would be the only way to help. She didn't know how it would help, but she knew it would. Somehow.

She entered a circular room with twelve doors, although curiously these doors had no handle. The floor was brightly polished and gleaming, reflecting the light (where the light came from, though, Ginny didn't know) brilliantly. Clearly, it was meant to confuse her, but that pull in her stomach directed her towards one of the doors and without hesitation Ginny said open.

And it opened.

And she walked through.

Now, she was in a large, square chamber that was dimly lit. Again, Ginny didn't know where the slight glow came from, but at the moment she didn't care.

In the middle of the room, on a raised platform in a pit, was a great stone archway with a heavy black curtain falling over it. The pull was ever stronger, and the black curtain blew slightly open even though the air in the room was completely still.

For the first time in 4 years, Ginny's thoughts disappeared. There were no thoughts, no feelings, no hate for Harry Potter, there was absolutely nothing but an entrancement with the archway. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Ginny registered that she was in the Department of Mysteries. She definitely should not be here. But that didn't stop her feet from moving forward, closer to the archway, closer and closer, down into the pit, up on to the platform...

She was face to face with it now, her nose so close to touching the black curtain. All of a sudden, like being punched in the stomach, feeling came back to Ginny.

The hate.

The guilt.

The shame.

The humiliation.

The stress.

The anxiety.

The hate.

The hate.

The hate...

She couldn't bear it anymore. She wanted to stop it. Stop it all. Tears sprung into her eyes – the first real emotion she had shown in years – and her teeth were clenched. With her fists in tight balls by her side, she stepped forward, through the curtain, and she was being pulled away, pulled away...

And she passed right through. But this time, it wasn't Ginny Weasley anymore. Ginny Weasley was left behind the curtain, her soul forever doomed to a whisper. It had taken her soul.

She was a dementor, a soulless dementor. And there was one thing that ran through her fevered dementor mind.

_I want Harry Potter's soul, want Harry Potter's soul, want Harry Potter's soul..._

Ginny Weasley had become dementor.

And she wanted to become a Soul Stealer.


End file.
